


Halfway To Heaven, Just A Mile Out of Hell

by Purpleplasticpurse



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Tumblr Prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-21 03:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30015642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purpleplasticpurse/pseuds/Purpleplasticpurse
Summary: A series ofTumblrprompts and requests, posted here and there.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Emily Prentiss
Comments: 31
Kudos: 49





	1. One

_**When It Comes To Luck, You Make Your Own** _

#2: _I’m sorry. You said what to your teacher?”_

Aaron doesn’t realize his mistake until it’s too late, _after_ he checks the school calendar that hangs on their fridge. It’s printed on bright yellow paper this month, clearly to avoid mishaps like the one he just made. But it’s definitely not the first time something like this has happened, and it certainly won’t be the last. 

_Another_ school event missed because of his grueling work schedule. Jack is old enough that he isn’t entirely surprised when Aaron breaks the news to him over waffles. It’s an attempt to win his son over even though it’s a given Jack will be at least mildly disappointed. This time it’s the Art Show, but this year alone he’s missed the Halloween Parade _and_ the Winter Play as well. He does his best, but more often than not, it’s Jessica who shows up to these events. And while Aaron can’t thank her enough, each time it happens, a piece of his heart chips away as it’s crossed off the _stupid_ calendar that hangs on the fridge. 

“If you can’t come, Daddy, my teacher said Emily can come instead!” Jack says excitedly, a green crayon wielded in his hand as he focuses on the coloring page in front of him. 

Aaron blanches, nearly spilling the last of the batter all over the floor but catches himself just in time. 

“What do you mean, Buddy?” Aaron has a feeling he knows exactly how this went down, none of it paints him in a good light whatsoever. Of course Jack knows Emily is more than just his dad’s _friend_ who comes over for dinner sometimes _and_ if he’s lucky, is still there for breakfast in the morning, but the actual extent of their relationship is another conversation they need to have soon. Emily’s appearance at his place is becoming all too frequent, and from the corner of his eye, he spots one of her sweatshirts tossed casually over the back of the chair, a pair of her shoes lined up with theirs against the door. She’s becoming a steady fixture in Jack’s life, someone he trusts. 

“My friend Gavin said his daddy’s new girlfriend was coming to the Art Show. So I asked if Emily could come, too.” Jack finally looks up from his coloring, beaming proudly. “Emily always colors with me when she’s here. She likes art just like me.” Jack twists in his seat, as if waiting for Emily to appear from the hallway. 

“I’m sorry,” Aaron blinks. “You said _what_ to your teacher?” 

“I told Miss Williams that your friend Emily from work sleeps over a lot, and that after dinner, we always watch movies together before you tuck me in.” His innocent child logic, what makes sense so perfectly in his mind, would in most other situations, warm his heart. But now, it has the opposite effect. 

Aaron goes completely slack-jawed, utterly mortified, pinching the bridge of his nose. _Oh my God._ In his mind he pictures Jack’s teacher, a woman practically young enough to be his daughter, and wonders just _what the hell_ she must be thinking of him. “When did _this_ happen?” He busies himself with finishing their waffles, and even though it’s just the two of them, his face turns red.

“Yesterday during class morning meeting!” Jack claps his hands as Aaron slides two waffles on a plate and passes over the powdered sugar. “After we read a story.” 

_Great_. “Just a little,” he warns as his son dunks his spoon right into the sugar, spilling it all over the table. The thought of his son sharing such details is more than enough to make him cringe, and he does his best to hide his displeasure from Jack.

“Miss Williams said it was okay, Daddy. Can you ask Emily if she can come to my Art Show?”

Yet there’s something else in his son’s voice - _adoration -_ and he can’t help but smile. “That sounds like a good idea, Jack. But next time, ask me _before_ you ask Miss Williams, okay?” 

“Okay, Daddy!” Jack agrees, affable, and Aaron rubs his temples, wondering just how awkward his next parent teacher conference might be when he’s face to face with Miss Williams again. 

But later that morning, he watches Emily stroll into the bullpen, a cup of coffee in hand and her bag over one shoulder. It’s the first morning she _hasn’t_ spent at his place in a few days, actually. Aaron waits for her to sit down and get settled before he all but corners her at her desk, doing his best to keep things as discreet as possible. 

They _still_ haven’t said anything to the rest of the team. 

“Morning,” Aaron says smoothly, noting the brilliant smile she offers when she sees him. _God, she’s beautiful._ He checks to make sure no one is in earshot before continuing, a slight hesitation in his voice. “This might be … too soon … but are you busy tonight?” 


	2. Two

_**Well If She Wants To See Me, You Can Tell Her That I'm Easily Found** _

#4: _“It’s always been you. You and only you.”_

Perhaps the most honest Aaron has ever been with her is when she’s about to leave _again_ , and he’s powerless to stop it. 

He called her less than two days ago, in a moment of quiet desperation; there’s no one better than Emily who can help them bring JJ back home alive. He isn’t surprised at all when she tells him she’s taking the next flight from London, but he isn’t exactly prepared to see her again, either. 

There had been _many_ phone calls since her departure almost two years ago, a tentative continuation of whatever she left behind the morning after JJ and Will’s wedding. _Emily_ was his first call after Erin Strauss died in his arms. _Aaron_ was the first person she told about being made head of Interpol. He’d called shortly after things ended with Beth, and didn’t miss the slight surprise in her voice when he relayed _that_ news. 

And of course, there was the _one_ time he ended up in London. Officially, he was there on a favor to an old colleague, now at Scotland Yard. But he’d be lying if he said there was no ulterior motive. He gets a hotel room but instead spends all but twelve hours of his trip in Emily’s apartment. 

_More specifically, in Emily’s bed._ It wasn’t the first time they’d fucked but he was almost certain it would be the last as he closed her door behind him, en route to Heathrow. 

_Up until now, at least._

“Emily, how much longer do we have you?” Aaron asks casually, his hand wrapped just a little too tightly around his beer bottle. None of the others know what happened in London; he’d only mentioned having dinner with Emily while abroad, mumbling something about it being too soon after Beth, just to avoid their suspicions. To the rest of them, it sounds like an innocent probe. But Emily has always been uncannily adept at reading his mind. 

“Umm...six hours,” she says, checking her watch. There’s a drink in her hand too, not her first, and when their eyes meet over the table when she has only _five_ hours left, he decides to take a chance. 

“I’ll drive you to your hotel,” he offers a short time later when they all agree it’s time to call it a night. And she nods, but they both know it isn’t her hotel they’re going to. 

Instead, it’s his place, because Jack is at a birthday party, and they only have _four_ hours until she’s a few thousand miles away. It seems like a cruel tease, but he knew before she even landed at Dulles this would be nothing but a brief moment in time.

And while brief, it’s tense, _years_ of things unresolved between them, not that they expected anything less. Aaron gets her up against the wall with ease. His hands waver between forceful and careful as he presses his knee between her legs. He works her sweater over her head, his teeth scraping hers when Emily rips his jacket off his shoulders, her fingers digging into his biceps. He hasn’t forgotten a thing, and when his fingers slip in the front of her jeans, she keens in his ear, already close. He takes her apart twice with nothing more than the tip of his thumb, whispering a raspy string of words that damn near make her blush right in her ear. 

They don’t even make it to his bedroom right away; instead Aaron lowers her down and fucks her right on the living room floor. She’ll wear a few bruises on her hips and spine but she doesn’t care, the rhythm he sets is anything but forgiving as she moans in his ear. Her eyes widen as he presses a hand against her mouth; the apartment walls are thin after all, and it’s the way she unravels around him for a _third_ time that triggers his own release. “ _Fuck, Emily_ ,” he grunts, hips moving erratically for a few more seconds before he finally lets go. 

With three hours to go, they finally do make it to his bedroom, and her body is a welcome weight in his bed, curled against him as they sleep, exhausted and fully sated. 

When their six hours are up, all too soon, Aaron drives her to the airport through a rainstorm. She refused breakfast earlier, but reluctantly accepted a mug of coffee, and he served it to her with a steady hand, a complete juxtaposition to the chaos that swirls through his mind. There are things he wants to say, things _she_ wants to say, but instead there’s the exchange of wary smiles, a brush of fingertips over the center console as Dulles looms in the distance. 

“I’ll call,” she says, even though she knows it’s not good enough anymore. They’re both in too deep. “When I … land.” 

“Yeah.” He grips the steering wheel a little tighter as she gathers her raincoat and purse. _This is it_. It could be years before he sees her again. He swallows; it makes his throat hurt. 

“I promise.” Emily fumbles with the sleeve of her raincoat, her eyes on the windshield. “I need to check in soon.” She adds something about the traffic that he doesn’t hear. Instead, he watches her take a few deep breaths as she reaches for the door handle.

A hand on her shoulder pulls her back to him for one more moment that will be over far too soon. “It’s always been you. You and only you,” he chokes, his voice thick because he already said goodbye to her once over a year ago and his heart hasn’t been the same since. 

There are tears in her eyes when she reaches for his hand. “I know, Aaron. I’ve always known.” 

The slam of the car door a few moments later is silenced by the rain.


	3. Three

**_Just Be Glad I Say What I Mean, And Mean What I Say To You_ **

_#130: Oh my god! You’re in love with her! + #164: Why Can’t They See They’re Meant for Each Other?_

Despite the image he maintains with relative ease, David Rossi wouldn’t consider himself an expert in love. Far from it, actually. After all, he’s been divorced three times, each one a bit more dramatic than the previous. He’s broken hearts as many times as his own has broken. It’s a relentless cycle that has made him overwhelmingly astute, the kind of wisdom that comes from years of experience. He’s undoubtedly charming, knows his way around a wine cellar, and can woo even the most jaded of women. 

Love, however, is a different story. 

But if there’s one thing he prides himself on, it’s calling it when he sees it. As he’s learned over time, love is sometimes inconvenient, usually impractical, and something is always lingering in the shadows to tear it apart. It’s a test of survival, one he’s failed many a time. 

Those years of experience are how he comes to the conclusion that Aaron Hotchner is head over heels in love with Emily Prentiss. He’s annoyed at himself for not calling it sooner, for not seeing the signs. Because today was one hell of a sign, and as he walks away from the crime scene, his heart pumps just a little faster, a bead of sweat lingering on his brow. A sign that was just a little too close for his comfort. 

They’re in Boston this time, having been called in to catch a killer targeting brunettes in nightclubs. And as day two blends into day three without much more than a tentative profile and preferred location, they have to take a different approach. One Dave should have seen coming. 

It’d been Emily’s idea to go under, posing as a potential target, one Aaron disagreed with from the beginning. Dave had watched him shoot her down immediately, an utter disregard that bordered on downright rude in front of half the Boston PD. It wasn’t the curtness of his voice that got his attention, or the way he held up his hand as if to shush her when her mouth opened to question his directive. It wasn’t that. It was concern, maybe even a touch of fear he’d seen in their normally unflappable Unit Chief. He’s met with Emily’s fury, an anger that radiates through her eyes, her arms curling across her chest in defiance. 

But they have no other option, because catching a nightclub killer isn’t going to be easy, as Emily reminds him, unwilling to back down. It’s a good plan, she suggests, because she fits the bill and knows the profile. Aaron’s face darkens at the prospect. “He’ll walk right into our trap,” she reasons before it’s almost a done deal, and she changes into the slinky emerald green dress that somehow appears from nowhere. 

Dave has an inkling his reluctance goes beyond more than just simple concern for a subordinate just moments before they leave. When sees her angrily stalking away from him, wearing that green dress that turns every head in the station, her hair fixed and fully made up, he knows there’s something between them. Something that’s been going on for awhile now. Aaron follows behind her, his mouth pressed into an angry line and his jaw set. His eyes don’t even linger on the dress - which suggests he’s seen it on her before. The only question is when that was. 

“Disagreement?” Dave attempts with discretion as Emily disappears around a corner, her spine stiff and her shoulders squared.

He says nothing in return, only fastens the FBI vest around his waist, a sign of his defeat. 

But as it turns out, in the end, Aaron was right, and Dave isn’t sure he wants to know all the details of just how he finds him bent over their unsub, menacing with a gun in his face less than two hours later. The Boston PD swarms around them too, their own weapons drawn in preparation. Aaron is seething, hissing that it’s over, an expletive falling from his lips. 

“Hotch,” is what Dave says evenly, almost pleasantly, because what he recognizes in his face is rage. Rage for the fact that Emily was found with maybe seconds to spare before things went from bad to worse, with two broken ribs, a badly sprained ankle, a fractured cheekbone from being pummeled in the face. “We’ve got him. Go.” 

When he escorts their unsub into a police car - a man whose name isn’t even worth uttering - he spies Aaron hovering around the open doors of an ambulance, mere inches away from Emily’s side. She’s bleeding at the knees, her face already swollen, as she’s loaded into the ambulance en route to a Boston hospital. They got lucky tonight, as they often do, but this one carries a little more weight. For more reasons than one.

...

The bar is where he finds Aaron after they get back from the hospital hours later, everyone in just a few more pieces than they’d been when arriving. There’s a drink in his hand and an empty glass beside it, suggesting he’s been here a bit longer than Dave originally thought. The clock on the wall approaches 2 AM.

“Shouldn’t you be with her right now?” He asks, taking the empty stool at his side. “Didn’t think I’d find you here.” 

“JJ has it under control,” Aaron says stiffly, clearly not ready to elaborate any further because things are clearly still rocky. “I shouldn’t have ever agreed to send her under.” 

“Did you actually think you’d have a choice?” The bartender brings another round for them both, and he nods a quick thanks. “Emily is … well, Emily.” 

“I could have taken her off the case. But then I wouldn’t have been objective. What I did was based strictly on my own feelings.” It’s as close a confession as he’ll get out of him, so Dave takes a chance. 

“How long have you been seeing each other?” 

“Three months,” Aaron says honestly, maybe a bit too forthcoming, but that’s probably the alcohol talking. Has it been that long? Clearly by now, Dave knows their little secret. “She’s a little out of my league, don’t you think?” He scrubs a hand over his eyes, his face lined with exhaustion and stress, the emotional turmoil that comes with nearly losing someone you love.

“My God,” Dave whistles, the whiskey burning his throat and quieting the voice in his head that reminds him just how close she got today. He suddenly wishes he had a cigar. “You’re in love with her,” he adds quietly. It’s a statement, not a question. 

Aaron swallows tightly, nods. “Is it that obvious?” 

His face cracks into the slightest of grins. “No. I’ve just been around long enough to tell.” 

...

The flight home from Boston is uncomfortably quiet. It’s like everyone knows to stay out of Aaron’s way, giving him space once they’ve boarded the plane. He gets on last, staying a safe distance away from Emily, even though he keeps a protective eye on her at all times. She’s on crutches for the next week - the ankle sprain was worse than they’d originally thought, and she curses under her breath as she maneuvers clumsily down the narrow aisle. Whatever went down between them in Boston is clearly still brewing, and Dave is glad they’re all headed to the sanctuary of their own homes. He says a silent prayer for whichever set of neighbors have the good fortune of listening to the argument that will most likely materialize once they’re back in Virginia. 

“I’m fine,” Emily says firmly once she’s seated with her foot elevated on the seat across from her, ignoring the sympathetic smiles from Morgan and Reid, their offers to keep her comfortable. “Everyone please stop looking at me like I’m going to break into pieces.” Emily grumbles, clearly exasperated, gripping the armrests as she takes a few steadying deep breaths. From the corner of his eye, Dave watches her pop a pain pill, chase it down with some water, and stare at the ceiling for a few long moments. 

Aaron settles not too far away, and it only takes a few minutes before they’re staring daggers at one another, a wordless duel laced with the remnants of previous arguments. It’s palpable, hanging in the air like a cloying smoke. Being in their vicinity finally gets too uncomfortable; he awkwardly shuffles down the aisle a few seats back, finding JJ in one of the seats with a book in her lap. She barely acknowledges him, just a little half smile as she stares at the pages, and it soon becomes painfully obvious she’s not even reading the words.

“You gonna turn the page anytime soon? You’ve been on -” Dave leans over to confirm - “page 177 for the last fifteen minutes.” 

“Why can’t they see they’re meant for each other?” JJ mutters under her breath next to him. it’s meant for only him to hear, Dave does a double take, making sure he heard correctly. She catches him immediately, smirking behind her fist. “What? I don’t believe for a second you don’t know about what’s going on between the two of them. 

He holds up both hands innocently, hoping it's convincing. “I know nothing.” 

“Lie to me again, Rossi, and I’ll ask Strauss why she comes to your office every night when she thinks we’ve all gone home.” JJ snaps the book shut, tossing it to the side. “Now,” she says, lowering her voice. “Tell me what you know.” 


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In full disclosure, this one gives me major WSNE feels. I know, I know. It's been ... a little more than 24 hours. But I did come home from work today and have a good long cry while clutching a bottle of cab sav because there are no more chapters to write. So that's how that's going.

_**A Lovestruck Romeo Sang The Streets A Serenade** _

_#200: Please be my boyfriend! + #105: If you're up for the challenge_

Aaron never expected to run into his boss’s daughter in a dive bar. 

But then again, Emily Prentiss was never exactly predictable.

It’s a Tuesday, the first night off he’s had in almost ten days. He’s learned quickly that working for an Ambassador is glamorous in name only. In practice, it’s typically uneventful, sometimes almost mind-numbing and boring. But it’s a foot in the door, the salary better than what he was making at his last position, and for the time being, he has to ride it out. Bide his time, climb the ladder until something better comes along. 

But after ten days of work, he’s _over_ it. Aaron expected he’d get a decent buzz when he slipped through the doors of the smoky bar _alone_ , after yet one more fight with Haley. Their marriage has morphed into one cyclical argument, centered around a myriad of topics ranging from money and mortgages to kids and intimacy. It’s anyone’s guess what the topic of the day will be. Tonight, money was the lucky winner. Tomorrow, something else entirely. 

So, if there is anyone in need of a night off, it’s Aaron. He drinks a beer in a record amount of time and then milks one more, feeling the effects of the alcohol start to kick in as he contemplates ordering a third. 

What he _didn’t_ expect was to see a slightly familiar face on one of the stools a few feet away from his own. 

Aaron has seen her around before - she’s hard to miss. _Emily_ , the Ambassador’s college-aged daughter, is the exact antithesis of her ridiculously uptight mother, and something tells him she takes great pride in that. He knows little about her, just that she’s a student at Yale with the mouth of a sailor. Around the mansion, she’s typically aloof, her face perpetually shielded by a pair of dark sunglasses that he suspects are to conceal a hangover or the aftereffects of an all nighter. She seems to always have an agenda, somewhere to be, and she doesn’t even seem to realize he exists. She appears to have time for no one, but Aaron suspects her flippant demeanor is a ruse for something else entirely. _Insecurity, perhaps?_

Without the sunglasses hiding her face, he gets a chance to steal a few glances from his own spot at the bar. She’s wearing a lot of makeup, clutching a drink in her hand. Emily nervously tucks her hair behind her ears every few minutes, glancing over her shoulder in what he calculates to be fifty-second increments. She’s looking for someone. Or waiting for someone. Either way, she looks nervous. So Aaron orders another drink - this will be his last - and figures it’s not worth making his presence known. _Technically_ , he isn’t supposed to fraternize with the Ambassador or her family outside of work, anyway. _A conflict of interest,_ they say. But something about seeing her there tells him he should stay. He subtly thanks the bartender and keeps her in his peripheral vision, distracting himself with a mindless game on the TV.

There’s a hesitant tap on his shoulder a few moments later, and when he lifts his eyes from television he’s not even watching, he’s _almost_ surprised to see her on the stool next to him. 

_Emily_.

“Excuse me,” she says in a low voice, the concept of personal space all but lost on her. She’s almost pressing herself _right_ against him, as if they’ve been doing this for years, and something tells him it’s not just because the bar is crowded. “But you seem like a guy who could help me out.” She smiles, and up close like this he can’t help but think she’s stunning. 

Not that he expected otherwise. “I beg your pardon?” He takes a quick sip of his beer, and then another. _Liquid courage_ , he supposes.

“I could really use a favor,” Emily continues, batting her long eyelashes. Clearly she has no idea who he is, and Aaron has to remind himself they’ve never formally met before. He’s only ever seen her from somewhat of a distance, and of course, heard the whisperings from the other agents. He’s never much believed in rumors, though. 

Aaron opens his mouth, ready to identify himself because something tells him _this_ could go downhill very quickly before she cuts in, throwing nervous eyes to the door once again. “What are you -” 

“ _Please_ pretend to be my boyfriend.” 

He nearly knocks the beer bottle over, blinking as if he didn’t hear her correctly. “I beg your pardon?” 

Emily smiles apologetically, talking just a little faster than before, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I know it sounds ridiculous. I’m here by myself, and for the last half hour, there’s this _guy_ who won’t leave me alone. I told him my boyfriend is coming but -” she glances at her feet, her cheeks flushing a shade of pink. “I don’t have a boyfriend, and he’s _persistent._ I’m pretty sure he spiked that drink too.” 

Aaron sees the untouched drink by her place at the bar, next to the one she just finished. _Just what is she doing in bars like this, by herself, at night? Where did this guy come from? Has the bartender not noticed?_ He has questions, but there isn't much time for answers. “Where is he?” 

“Outside smoking.” 

Something else crosses his mind. “I’ve been sitting here all night. You don’t think he’s already seen me?” 

“He’s had his back to you the whole time. Plus,” Emily points toward the door. “The people next to us just got up and left. I highly doubt he saw you.” 

Aaron wants to ask why she didn’t just get the hell up and leave with them, but her fingers tighten around his jacket sleeve, her eyes never leaving the wall of liquor bottles on the bar. “He’s coming back. At least pretend you like me, okay?” 

There’s the heavy drag of shoes on the ground, a heavy odor of smoke and cigarettes permeating the air behind them. He feels Emily flinch when a large hand clamps down on her shoulder. “You’re still here” the guy leers, getting just a little too close. But then he spots Aaron, immediately pulling his hand away, his face twisting into a scowl. “So your boyfriend finally decided to show up.” 

“ _Oh._ Hi, Drew **.** ” Emily tosses back lightly, throwing her arm around Aaron’s shoulders, leaving a kiss on his cheek. He gets a whiff of her perfume when her lips brush his skin, and for a brief moment, his mind blurs. _Focus,_ he tells himself. “Traffic, you know.” 

“You mean _this_ is your boyfriend?” The guy, Drew **,** asks in disbelief, as if he doesn’t fully believe Emily. He gives Aaron a poorly concealed once-over, one that holds nothing but judgement. 

“This is him,” Emily chirps, and for good measure, runs a hand through Aaron’s hair adoringly. _Focus,_ he reminds himself. But she’s _good_ at this, Aaron observes, wondering if she’s done this before. “You want something to eat, babe?” She reaches for a bar menu, pretending to study it. 

“I’m starving,” Aaron says, hoping it’s convincing, reaching for her hand to prove a point. He squeezes her fingers, conveying the notion he’ll play along as long as she needs him to. “Whatever we got last time we were here was good.” 

Emily nods approvingly, smiling sweetly at Drew with a wave of her hand. It’s a dismissal in the clearest sense **.** “It was great meeting you, Drew. Have a good night.” 

“Yeah, you too,” he grumbles, clearly not convinced and undoubtedly annoyed at Aaron’s sudden presence next to her. “I guess I’ll see you around, Emily.” He stalks off, his footsteps heavy, disappearing into the crowd.

“Thank you” Emily says with relief once he’s fully out of earshot, but Aaron notices she doesn’t move her chair away from him. “Persistent little fuck, wasn’t he?” 

“Definitely.” he twists a straw wrapper in his fingers as she orders another drink, draping one long leg over the other. His eyes linger on her legs for a split second too long. He shouldn’t be this close to her, let alone have _drinks_ with her. _Yeah, this could be bad if it got out._ Aaron can only imagine the reactions of his coworkers if they found out. 

“So, what’s your name?” Emily asks quickly, smoothing her hair over a shoulder, visibly relaxing in front of him as she lifts the glass to her lips. “I never did ask you, did I?” 

“Hotchner,” he says out of habit, only realizing his mistake when she laughs.

“Are you some kind of cop or something? Your _first_ name, genius. You’re my _boyfriend,_ remember?” Emily gives a slight roll of her eyes. “We should _probably_ be on a first name basis.”

That gets a laugh from him, too. “My first name is Aaron.” 

“Mine’s Emily,” she says, narrowing her eyes and studying his face carefully, as if she’s trying to place him. “You look familiar to me for some reason.” 

“I know what your name is.” 

Her eyebrows nearly disappear into her hairline.

“I work for your mother,” Aaron says softly, wondering if it’s the right move to make. But it’s summer; she’ll be around for the next several weeks, and if they don’t clear the air now, things could get awkward the next time their paths cross. He probably shouldn’t mention that her reputation precedes her, and he fumbles for what to say next.

Emily hand flies to her mouth, eyes widening as she processes his words. “You mean you - you’re one of the security agents. _That’s_ where I know you from.” She places him quickly, suddenly looking embarrassed and utterly self-conscious. “Fuck.” 

“I only started last month,” Aaron offers, sensing her discomfort, yet not quite ready for her to get up and leave. “I haven’t been around very long.” 

“Yet you knew who I was,” she says suspiciously. 

“You’re hard to miss.” He _wants_ to bring up the time he witnessed the day she got home from Yale a few weeks ago, surrounded by mountains of luggage in the driveway. Her mother had been less than thrilled, and it started _quite_ the argument between the two of them that could be heard from nearly anywhere on the front grounds.

Emily laughs loudly this time, her head tilting back with effort. “I guess I’m doing something right, then.” 

He resists the urge to push the stray piece of hair from her face. _Don’t even think about it,_ he tells himself _._ “Definitely.” 

“My mother _is_ all about appearances,” she quips. “But I like to keep things interesting.” 

“We could use a little bit of that around there for sure.”

They slip into a witty banter that comes easily to her; he tries to keep up with her endlessly sharp wit. Emily watches him from the corner of her eye, studying him casually as they drink. And while she’s still a bit guarded, there’s something about the way her walls slowly peel back that tell him he’s doing _something_ correctly. 

“How about a shot?” she asks out of the blue, her eyes suddenly glittering. “If you’re up for the challenge.” 

Aaron briefly considers the fact that taking shots with his boss’s daughter definitely isn’t the best idea he’s ever had. He isn’t even certain she’s old enough to be drinking. But it’s too late because Emily has already flagged the bartender down with a determined wave. 

“Two tequila shots, please,” she says sweetly, even as she tosses a devious wink in his direction. “Consider it a thank you for your services tonight.” 

He swallows, fully aware Emily could most likely drink him under the table and probably will. 

“Let me guess.” She slides one of the small glasses towards him with a devious grin on her face. “You don’t drink very often.” 

“Got me there,” Aaron retorts dryly. _He can’t remember the last time he and Haley spent a night out at a bar_. 

He’s about to make her a deal - the next round is on him - when he realizes she isn’t looking at _him_ anymore. Instead, her eyes are locked on the thin gold band on his left hand. 

“I didn’t realize you were married.” 


	5. Five

**_I wanna read your mind to know just what I've got in this new thing I've found._ ** **_Is that you or just a brilliant disguise?_ **

**_So when you look at me, you better look hard and look twice. Is that me or just a brilliant disguise?_ **

_145:_ _“Are you okay?” “Why do you ask?” “Because you’re wearing two different shoes.”_

The first time it happens, they’re on a case in Gettysburg in the midst of a chilly November the week before Thanksgiving. They get called to a new crime scene in the middle of the night because another body shows up on the battlefield, giving a total count of four murdered college students. It’s after 2 before they can think about leaving, and close to 3 when they begin the thirty minute drive back to the hotel, an almost eerie silence settling in. Gettysburg is beautiful, especially in the fall, but at night it gives her the creeps, thanks to Reid reminding them all it’s one of the most haunted places in Pennsylvania. 

Aaron is driving, his eyes flicking between the road and Emily at his side in the passenger seat. She feels his gaze in seventy-second increments that are meant to be discreet, and yet are anything but. There’s chemistry there, something they’ve never acknowledged but never completely denied, either. And in the stillness, without any distractions, it’s undeniable. 

“Something on your mind?” she finally asks, wondering just what goes through his head because even after all this time she can’t always figure him out. Aaron’s response is more of a grunt, and Emily isn’t quite certain she even heard one at all. “Care to share?” They are, after all, stuck together for the time being. 

_This_ seventy-second increment only lasts forty before Aaron’s eyes are on her again. His voice is low and gravelly, a dangerous mix of steely calm, he says, “Sometimes, I think about what it would be like to fuck you.”

She’s _almost_ surprised. 

There’s a familiar flutter in her stomach, an ache between her legs she can’t ignore at his revelation, a thought that mirrors her own from time to time. She gets a touch of satisfaction when his knuckles whiten around the steering wheel, and she has about fifteen seconds to consider a response. “Then pull over,” Emily breathes before she can think too much about it, and her heart nearly beats right out of her chest when he _actually_ veers to the right, the car coming to a full stop along the side of a road. 

It’s hurried and frantic; there’s nothing careful about the way her teeth scrape against his jaw or the way he all but tears off the button of her pants, his fingers curving inside of her so perfectly. Emily chokes on air as his thumb hits her clit, the moan that escapes her throat reverberates through the car and he shushes her by wrapping a hand around the back of her neck and pulling her in to cover her lips with his own. The front seat of the car is unforgiving to say the least. Her legs bend at an impossible angle as she sinks down on him; her head falling back when she’s fully seated, her body stretching to accommodate him in a way that makes breathing a concentrated effort. Aaron lifts a hand to her back, pushing her shirt up just enough to touch her spine as her hips rock, curling the other hand around her upper thigh to guide her movements. 

It’s breathless, almost desperate, and _such_ a bad idea. But it’s over soon, as quickly as it starts, and the sound of the whimper that punctuates the air as she comes dies on her lips. “This can’t happen again,” Aaron grunts moments after he finishes, still twitching inside of her as she catches her breath, his hand broad and flat across her bare back. 

“You’re right.” Emily is quick to agree, because nothing good can possibly come from this happening again. “It can’t.” 

It’s _supposed_ to be a one time thing, never to be spoken of again, but they know better than this. Both of them are completely aware of the complications that could (will) arise if it continues. And yet, it’s solidified in their minds, a fire they can’t help but burn. As they expected, (but would never admit) it quickly becomes more than that, then something else entirely. 

...

The second time is in December, in the midst of the holiday season rush. It’s stupid, risky, and worth every second. Aaron is in his office late, wrapping Jack’s Christmas gifts, fumbling with the wrapping paper and ribbons on the floor. It’s his fourth attempt, and soon he’s going to run out of the good tape. The paper is always too long, the ribbon is too short, and he’s been at it for over an hour when a subtle cough makes his head snap up in surprise. 

Emily stands in the doorway, a thick folder in her hands. She surveys the scene, eyes widening at the implications of what he’s doing, and _why_ he’s doing it _here_ of all places. It’s not his first Christmas as a single father, but there are some things that never get easier. Wrapping gifts is one of them, the reminder that there are some things he has to go at alone. 

“You’re using too much paper,” she says gently, tossing the folder on the couch and closing the door behind her. “And not enough tape.” 

He must look pathetic, because her face softens even more as she sits down beside him, cross legged on the floor. “Let me.” 

He relents, grateful for the help, and Aaron can’t help but watch the way her fingers move, the tendons in her fine-boned hands neatly folding and precisely cutting, until the contents of Jack’s new lego set is neatly concealed behind Toy story wrapping paper. 

“Wrapping your own gifts, I take it?” Emily quips, handing him the perfectly done box. 

“Something like that,” Aaron drawls. And _damn it,_ he can’t help himself from cupping her face in his hand, his fingers tightening just enough around her jaw to make her scoot a few inches closer to him. “Thank you,” he says, pushing a piece of hair from her face, pressing his lips to hers before he can think twice.

And _that’s_ how they end up on his desk, Emily’s back flat against the heavy mahogany oak, her head cushioned by his suit jacket and his button down shirt. She smells like pine needles and peppermint, his face buried in her shoulder, her legs wrapped around his waist as he thrusts into her relentlessly. This time they come together, wrapped around each other in his _fucking_ office, and she’s almost ashamed of herself for giving in so easily. It can only get worse from here.

“This _can’t_ happen again,” Emily tells him, her voice still thick with lust, an arm around his neck to keep him close for just a few more moments. By now the sun has set, the sky is dark, and soon enough the night custodians will start their rounds. “I should go,” she adds for good measure, shifting beneath him impatiently. 

“RIght,” Aaron nods stiffly, pulling out of her carefully and noting the way her hips stutter at the loss of him. _Nothing good can possibly come of this_ , he thinks with regret, a thumb brushing over the soft skin of her lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says with an air that sounds final, like the closing of a door not to be opened again.

_But it’s only a matter of time._

It happens again, like they know it would, eight weeks later in February. Except this time, it’s nothing like the first or second. Aaron shows up at her door with a bag of takeout under his arm after he gets off the phone with the Italian Consulate yet again that night. The priest, Father Silvano will be extradited back to Italy to stand trial, but the damage is already done. It’s been a hellish few days, it hasn’t stopped storming and now the rain has turned to snow, the flakes dusting over his shoulders as he raps his knuckles three times. 

Aaron doesn’t even know if she’ll be there - he all but reamed out Dave for not driving her back home earlier that night instead leaving her to walk in the snow. _She needed space,_ was Dave’s argument, and Aaron half considers going back to look for her if she doesn’t answer. 

But Emily opens the door, wearing a sweatshirt that has seen better days, her damp hair starting to frizz at the ends. Her eyes are red; it doesn’t take an idiot to know she’s been crying. There are tear stains on her cheeks he pretends not to see, and instead offers an awkward smile.

“What are you doing here?” She questions, not out of anger but mild surprise, not missing the bag in his hands. “You … you didn’t have to do that.” 

“Thought you’d appreciate a free dinner.” He shifts the bag to the other arm, the scent of Italian wafting around them. Only then does he recognize the irony of his choice of cuisine, and hopes she doesn’t make the ill-timed connection. But of course she does.

“Really, Aaron? Italian. Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?”

“Poor planning on my end,” he manages, looking slightly regretful. “For what it’s worth, the pasta is good.” 

“And the company?” She lifts an eyebrow and studies him carefully. “Does that come with the free dinner?” 

“Added bonus,” Aaron quips. “Unless you want me to leave the food and go.” 

Against her better judgement, Emily laughs softly and holds the door open, meeting his concerned eyes for a brief moment as she lets him slide past her. He’s been to her apartment only once before, in a desperate attempt to get her back on their team, but he correctly guesses the cabinet with plates on his first try. If she has reservations about any of this she doesn’t show it, and simply sinks onto the couch as he brings her a plate, settling beside her with his own. 

They sit on opposite ends of her couch with plates in their laps, making light small talk about everything _but_ the situations staring them right in the face - the one from before, and one they’ve been tap dancing around for several months. He has questions yet she owes him nothing; just because they fucked a few times doesn’t give him the right to her secrets. She’s always kept things close to the vest. He knows there are things that lie beyond the carefully curated facade she’d initially presented when she started on the team. This is very much one of those things.

Emily sees right through this, and yet, she still can’t help but question his intentions. “Why are you really here, Aaron?” 

“I was worried,” he tells her after a long pause. “And,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “I owe you an apology.” 

_His_ admission, along with his vulnerability breaks a wall that went up that first night in Gettysburg in November a few months prior. It’s how he learns one of her most guarded truths, told with careful delineation of facts from emotions, and the gap between them closes with each layer that peels away from her. It’s clear she’s lived with it for a long time, maybe not fully processed it, but it’s part of her and she holds no shame. Emily keeps her chin high as she tells him, her fingers twisting the hem of her sweatshirt, her legs curled to her chest. 

Aaron spends the night, not because she asks but she doesn’t have to. Emily falls asleep on the couch, her head resting on his shoulder, his hand on her knee. He doesn’t have the heart to wake her so instead he carries her to her room, making sure she’s fully covered with the layers of blankets before settling beside her. 

The morning after is the third time. Emily awakens in his arms, her back against his chest, an arm tucked around her waist. “You stayed,” is all she says before she pushes him onto his back and pulls her shirt from her body, swinging a leg over his hip. 

_Hell of a way to wake up,_ he thinks as his hands slide up to her waist. It’s the most _normal_ of encounters they’ve had, and that’s saying something given the circumstances of how he got there in the first place.

...

The days multiply into a familiar pattern of here and there. He comes to her place more often than she goes to his - it feels invasive to be there. He’s a father first, and somewhere in the boundaries of what they are and aren’t, dragging Jack into things _still_ doesn’t feel right. But it’s becoming harder and harder to hide the fact that this extends beyond casual. 

As she sleeps soundly beside him, he makes the decision that _tomorrow_ will be the day they have the conversation that is so desperately needed. He hardly sleeps a wink, tossing and turning into the early hours of the morning.

“We need to talk,” Aaron says mere hours later, in a tone that carries more weight than just the excuse of not enough sleep or something equally unconvincing. “About … this.” The flick of his hand between them tells her _exactly_ what he means. “About us,” he adds, albeit unnecessarily. 

“Are you okay?” Emily stares at him from over her coffee mug, an amused smirk twisting on her face. He’s _nervous_ , as she anticipated he would be, yet it’s still endearing, and she lifts the mug to her lips to hide the grin that’s spreading across her face. “You probably shouldn’t leave the house like that, you know.”

“Why do you ask?” He fixes his tie with a slightly shaking hand, wondering just how she can be so cavalier about all of this. He isn’t sure _when_ or _how_ his feelings got to this point, but something about all of this feels so final, as if he might _scare_ her away. “I’m fine.” 

Emily breaks into a fit of laughter, choking on her coffee as it sprays halfway across the room. She points to his feet, still coughing and sputtering. “Because you’re wearing two different shoes.” 

Aaron blinks, and follows to where she’s pointing, seeing that she’s entirely correct. In his moments of utter distraction, he’d put on two different shoes, two completely different colors and styles. But that’s the least of his concerns as the words he’s been meaning to tell her for months now fall from his lips, completely unchecked. 

Only after he changes his shoes, and double checks them in the mirror, she gives him a shy yet brilliant smile, coupled with a nod of her head and a resounding _yes_ falling from her lips. 


	6. Six

**_Sometimes the truth just ain’t enough or it’s too much in times like this. Let's throw the truth away._ **

_#36: I don’t know who I am without you / #129. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you._

It isn’t the first time Aaron comes to see her with flowers in hand, and it doesn’t make visiting her grave any easier, or any less painful.

Flowers became a thing early on, starting with their first date several months before. Aaron had been _anxious_ in the hours leading up to it - distracted all day, letting his eyes linger on her a few seconds too long here and there. It’s clear _something_ was up. He assumed Dave must have overheard him confirming with Jessica about picking Jack up from his playdate, and that he’ll pick him up from _her_ place around nine. All day he’d dodged the carefully timed stares, a few subtle winks whenever Emily’s back was turned.

“Got a date?” Dave asked casually on their way out, much later that afternoon, keeping his eyes forward as the elevator doors closed. But he’d smiled, which suggests he _definitely_ overheard, and has all but figured out why Aaron is leaving so uncharacteristically early. 

Aaron plays dumb, scrambling for an excuse for his early departure, and manages something out about a friend being in town. Dave had simply laughed. “Emily likes flowers,” he’d said as Aaron held his briefcase with a slightly sweaty hand. “I hope you picked some out.” 

The quirk of an eyebrow, and the amusement hidden in the subtle contours of Aaron’s face all but give him away, the exact reason now known. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dave.” It’s an attempt in vain. 

“But you do, and before you even ask how, just know I have my ways.” 

Aaron had never been happier to see elevator doors open. What he _doesn’t_ tell Dave is that he’s had flowers figured out already, for a few days now. 

He remembers that night - their first date - like it was yesterday; it’s never fully dissipated from his mind. She’d been wearing blue - cerulean, to be specific - and she blushed ever so slightly when he handed her the bouquet of Dahlias and told her she looked beautiful. 

Their reservation (at a Tapas bar close to the National Mall) had mysteriously gotten deleted, leaving them without a table only after they arrived at the restaurant. Emily had laughed despite Aaron’s visible frustration, taking the whole thing in stride as she tucked her hand in his arm. Instead, they ended up walking around the Monuments and eating street tacos from a food truck wrapped in heavy coats. Despite the cold, it was light, fun, and as he dropped her off in front of her building, he’d kissed her - brief, but full, his lips on hers a promise of a second date sooner rather than later.

There was indeed a second date; this one to an antique bookstore in Alexandria followed by coffee on a chilly Sunday morning. The threat of snow later that afternoon hadn’t deterred them. Aaron brings her flowers again - lilies - and she’d held them to her nose for the briefest of seconds as the blush rose to her cheeks once more. The second date was three weeks after the first, thanks to a barrage of cases that seemed to multiply, one right after the other, at a relentless rate with little time for anything else, let alone any semblance of a personal life. And yet, they picked up right where they left off, the same easy banter and familiarity that comes with _years_ of knowing someone as well as they do. He kisses her again, this time bringing a hand to her hair and another around her back, pulling her in close. It’s not even a question if there will be a third date when they pull away, breathless.. 

Their third date was Valentine’s Day, and she’d come to his place for the first time in over a year, since the days after Foyet threatened to rip his family apart. Aaron bought roses - two dozen red ones - as cliché as it was, handing them to her when she’d arrived. She’d beamed as she shook the light dusting of snowflakes off her shoulders, apologizing for her lateness, murmuring that the flowers were beautiful. He’d planned on making her dinner but instead he’d taken her to bed, leaving their clothes scattered across the living room floor. Emily was beautiful beneath him; her long legs wrapped around his waist as he’d learned her, taking his time finding all the places that made her moan. Her fingers tangled in his hair when he’d kissed his way down the flat planes of her stomach and between her legs, her hands gripped his shoulders as he thrusted into her, she’d lowered herself down to press her chest against his, his arms wrapped around her as she rode him to completion with his own finish coming in the seconds after her own. 

Aaron also ruined their dinner during their preoccupation - overcooked the steak and burnt the potatoes to a blackened crisp, rendering it all inedible. With a sheet wrapped around her chest, Emily had reached for her phone and ordered pizza, which they ate in bed straight out of the box. “The best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had,” she’d whispered in his ear much later, her lips smoothing down his jaw as she pushed him onto his back, a devious grin on her face. Hours later, he repeated her words right back to her, pressing kisses to her lips. 

It all fell apart shortly after that.

Date number four was cruelly ripped right out of their hands as Emily slipped away, literally and figuratively, the threat of Ian Doyle becoming a reality. She’d withdrawn, becoming distant and even secretive, slipping into briefings late and sneaking clandestine glances at her phone throughout the day. Aaron had been oblivious to the truth (she hid _that_ from all of them), but he knew _something_ was direly wrong. 

Two weeks after she cancelled their fourth date with a heaviness in her voice that culminated over the last few weeks, he heard the name _Lauren Reynolds_ for the first time. And about ten days after _that_ , he signed the paperwork that essentially rendered Emily Prentiss _dead_.

So now, Aaron always brings her flowers. It feels wrong _not_ to, because he always has. This time he brings Irises; Emily likes those. She told him that once, back when he hung on every word she said, his brain absorbing every last detail of her to commit to memory. Now those memories come back and haunt him like a curse. The car door slams but he doesn’t hear it, and he adjusts the hood of his jacket and tucks his keys into his pocket. He keeps his head down, grateful for the soft rain that falls in the summer wind like a whisper as he maneuvers through the gate, stepping over the neat landscaping. Every step he takes brings him closer to her yet she’s never been further away from him, and he finally releases the breath he’s been holding when he sits down next to her headstone. 

“Hi,” Aaron says softly, fumbling with the stems in his hands as he sets them down beside the ones he’d brought the other day, brushing his fingers over the cold marble headstone. “I miss you, you know. I’m sorry it’s been a few days. It was a hell of a week.” Being here is a familiar ritual, one that brings him an unexplainable bit of comfort and yet a profound sense of grief. It’s been four months since they buried an empty casket into the ground as she convalesced in the hospital. Four months since he explained to Jack with as much patience as he could muster that Emily had to go away for awhile, possibly forever, and calmly answered his son’s questions even as his own heart was shattering into pieces.

Aaron supposes it feels mildly silly, talking to someone who isn’t even there, _spiritually or whatever_ , because what _most_ don’t know is she’s not even _dead_ **.**

 _She may as well be._ Those were her words, not his. It’s what she said in the days after Boston, still too weak to travel but awake and fully cognizant, the impending reality looming in the distance. Aaron had sat at her side, as close as he could get without physically climbing into the bed with her, his hand a fixture in hers for the better part of the two weeks she’d spent there. 

“These nurses are like drill sergeants,” Emily had groaned one afternoon after she’d taken a few laps around the floor, pushing a walker with Aaron hovering at her side, a protective hand on her back. It took nearly all of her energy; her eyelids had fluttered within minutes of returning to her bed.

“They’re supposed to help you get better, you know.” And while he can’t help but feel proud of her for how far she’s come, her returning strength is a reminder that soon enough she’ll vanish from their lives, unceremoniously, as if she never existed at all. 

Her grave is the only place he feels close to her, as if she, wherever she is, might be there in some way too. It’s where Aaron talks to her, tells her the mundane things about life - the life that has seemingly paused since she left- anecdotes about Jack’s soccer team, Dave’s new car, every now and then he’ll mention a case. Sometimes it’s a haze of confusion, asking the questions he most likely will never get answers to, his voice breaking at the most simple, yet complicated of them all. _Why? How?_

Other days, it’s grief that courses through his veins and clouds his heart, like a vice grip around his windpipe that makes every intake of breath more painful than the last. They all feel her absence; a numbness has enveloped them all in the last couple of weeks especially. But he bears the pain of knowing the truth and being responsible for the secret they’ve held to keep her safe. Today is one of those days. 

“I wish I could be angry with you,” he says, never taking his eyes off the headstone. “For what you put us through.” He’s tried that. Anger never lasts long, because Aaron sees her face in his mind, full of poorly concealed fear as he and JJ had passed over the dossier of new identities into her hands, signifying the beginning of the end. 

“Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you,” Aaron chokes through the mounting thickness in his throat. “It’s not the same without you. Nothing is.” His face is wet, and it’s not because of the rain. Most of his visits end this way, and he takes the long way back home to pull himself together. “We miss you. _I_ miss you.” 

It’s getting harder to breathe, harder to conceal the sobs that are coming like the stormcloud in the distance, and he buries his face in his hands to cry because there’s nothing left he can do. “I don’t know who I am without you, Emily.”

There’s a rustling in the trees behind him sometime later. If he closes his eyes he can almost _hear_ her footsteps behind him, sure and steady. Aaron can’t bring himself to turn around because she won’t be there - she’s already gone. 

“I love you,” he whispers, knowing he should have said it a long time ago. 


End file.
